Bastard Prince
His feet dragged heavy beneath him as he pulled himself away from the throne room. It felt as if he could barely carry his own weight; indeed, for a moment he worried that he might collapse entirely. It was not physical exhaustion that dragged him down, but the emotional toil of meeting with his father. The man had delivered crushing news and utterly obliterated any hopes Lothaire might have had for reconciliation.
It was not his father's work that had kept the old man absent in his life, but rather the Ashlan patriarch's fear of his own son. Cedric had claimed love for the boy and compared the youth to the worst their house had ever offered in a man all in one breath. Lothaire was not foolish enough to believe his father's flowered words when his real intent was worn so nakedly. The kind words he'd offered intermingled with damning condemnation elucidated the prince well on the way his father operated. The old man wanted him out of the way and leashed within the military to serve another future heir, likely a younger sibling yet to be born.
It was a grave thing to pass over a firstborn, and Lothaire felt that scorn keenly in his soul.
"What do I do now?" He whispered to himself as he strode beyond the main keep out into the empty snow-dusted courtyard. The hour was late, poking into the early morning, and a bright full moon illuminated the sleeping castle in pale white light.
The wind howled for a moment in answer to his musings, then all fell silent, even the slightest scurrying muffled by the snowfall. In his momentary isolation. Lothaire stared up at the moon shining above, muttered a prayer under his lips, and fell to his knees. Uncertain as to whether he should pay heed to his father's wishes or not, Lothaire closed his eyes and began to pray further of his goddess. "Lord, I am lost," his voice trembled as the unpleasant emotions of the day came rushing forth, "I had thought it to be providence that the priests came for me. I thought it was your will. Was I wrong? Did I misunderstand you?"
He glanced up through his fingers as clouds began to shroud the moon in a moody gray. "Why does he hate me?" Lothaire's voice was a creaking whisper as he asked the true question eating away at his heart. The moon did not speak nor did the Ashla offer any guidance aside from the vague sense of peace that followed his confession. The only response he received was the beginning of a light snowfall from the clouds that had seemingly appeared of their own accord.
Tears bit at the youth's gaze, but he did well to force them down. To let them fall would so too see him fall into despair, and only misery would follow. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, and forced his head high, nodding in quiet affirmation to himself. The cold of the snow began to seep in through his clothes as he rose to his feet, but he did not allow it to bother him. Rather he stared up at the moon through wet eyes, drowning himself in a sea of melancholy musings.
Starlin Rand
It was not his father's work that had kept the old man absent in his life, but rather the Ashlan patriarch's fear of his own son. Cedric had claimed love for the boy and compared the youth to the worst their house had ever offered in a man all in one breath. Lothaire was not foolish enough to believe his father's flowered words when his real intent was worn so nakedly. The kind words he'd offered intermingled with damning condemnation elucidated the prince well on the way his father operated. The old man wanted him out of the way and leashed within the military to serve another future heir, likely a younger sibling yet to be born.
It was a grave thing to pass over a firstborn, and Lothaire felt that scorn keenly in his soul.
"What do I do now?" He whispered to himself as he strode beyond the main keep out into the empty snow-dusted courtyard. The hour was late, poking into the early morning, and a bright full moon illuminated the sleeping castle in pale white light.
The wind howled for a moment in answer to his musings, then all fell silent, even the slightest scurrying muffled by the snowfall. In his momentary isolation. Lothaire stared up at the moon shining above, muttered a prayer under his lips, and fell to his knees. Uncertain as to whether he should pay heed to his father's wishes or not, Lothaire closed his eyes and began to pray further of his goddess. "Lord, I am lost," his voice trembled as the unpleasant emotions of the day came rushing forth, "I had thought it to be providence that the priests came for me. I thought it was your will. Was I wrong? Did I misunderstand you?"
He glanced up through his fingers as clouds began to shroud the moon in a moody gray. "Why does he hate me?" Lothaire's voice was a creaking whisper as he asked the true question eating away at his heart. The moon did not speak nor did the Ashla offer any guidance aside from the vague sense of peace that followed his confession. The only response he received was the beginning of a light snowfall from the clouds that had seemingly appeared of their own accord.
Tears bit at the youth's gaze, but he did well to force them down. To let them fall would so too see him fall into despair, and only misery would follow. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, and forced his head high, nodding in quiet affirmation to himself. The cold of the snow began to seep in through his clothes as he rose to his feet, but he did not allow it to bother him. Rather he stared up at the moon through wet eyes, drowning himself in a sea of melancholy musings.
Starlin Rand
